


Prophecy

by Xochiquetzl



Series: Briefly Thyself Remember [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-30
Updated: 2006-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xochiquetzl/pseuds/Xochiquetzl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus wants to survive the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prophecy

_The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,  
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:_  
\- William Shakespeare,  
King Henry VI

Sybill knelt, and started to pick the lock with some nails she'd pulled out of a table. Bellatrix Lestrange would be back soon, demanding to know more about some prophecy she'd made almost twenty years ago about You-Know-Who. Well, Sybill didn't remember making any such prophecy, and, as much as it pained her to admit it to herself, it was probably bollocks if she had. Not that she'd ever confess that to Lestrange; it wouldn't spare her life, and if she was going to die anyway she might as well keep her dignity and die a seer rather than a fraud.

The lock finally opened, and Sybill dropped the nails and pushed the door open. She stepped out, and pulled the door shut behind her.

She tiptoed. Lestrange had taken her wand, so she'd have to find another way out. There were racks and barrels of wine, and dust, and cobwebs, and her eyesight had never been good but she was determined. She'd be damned if she'd die like a rat in the Malfoy wine cellar.

The door opened. Sybill pressed herself against the wall, behind a wine rack. Good vintages--not that she expected less from the Malfoys. She wondered if it would be Lestrange or Malfoy's wife. It didn't matter, they'd learn nothing from her.

It was Snape. Snape put his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, and took her hand. They apparated.

And then they were in what appeared to be a modest middle-class muggle home--apart from the Pensieve in the corner, of course--and he smirked at her. "Who knew you were so resourceful?"

A rat scurried by, and Snape turned his wand on it and said, "Avada Kedavra!"

Sybill stared at him.

"You don't want the Dark Lord's spies telling him you're here, do you?" he said.

She blinked. "Won't he be angry?" she said.

Severus smirked. "If he finds out." He picked up the rat by the tail, his lip curled in disgust, and stepped out the back. Sybill heard a bin lid rattling in the back. Snape returned, and looked at her. "I was hoping you could tell me how I might survive this war," he said.

Of course he was. Well, she couldn't prophesy on command. "I always thought you had a lot of aptitude for the noble art of divination yourself," she said, edging towards the door.

He sneered. "Clearly my inner eye has abandoned me. All I see are weeping masses at my funeral. However appealing the idea may be, I prefer to live."

One moment Snape was standing a few feet away, and then he was there, close, staring. And there was something stuck in her throat, or so it seemed. She started to cough. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Snape walked over to the Pensieve, and pulled out a thought. He then pointed at it. She looked inside, and saw Snape's house, with the two of them standing almost as they were now.

She felt herself tumble into the scene, and stood in front of herself. Her eyes went blank, and her voice became different, deep. "Your death will kill you both, you and the one who takes your life."

And then she saw herself begin to cough, and rose, finding herself outside the Pensieve again.

"Who?" he said.

She just stared at him.

He stepped closer, and said, "Do you trust me?"

She didn't, of course. But she had seen herself. She did have the gift. She could almost cry in relief.

There was a sense of pressure, like the start of a sinus headache. She'd been on the receiving end of legilimancy before, of course. She started to step away, tried to look away from those eyes, and then pressed back. She had some talent in the area herself, of course. He must not be fighting her, because her mind was filled with images: A small dark-haired boy crying while a hook-nosed man yelled at a cowering woman. A skinny teenager, staring defiantly at the other kids laughing at him. A grave, gone before she could read the writing on the stone.

Lupin. Lips, kissing, overpowering, she'd never been kissed like that, not ever. She flinched.

And then everything shifted. She could see herself, through Snape's eyes, and then she had a vision.

The forest. Evening. Remus Lupin pointed a wand at Severus. "Reducto."

Severus flew backwards, and struck a stone wall. His wand flew a few feet away. "Hello, Remus."

Remus cast Reducto again and again, but he was sobbing. Severus never lifted a hand to defend himself.

The others found Remus there, crying. They held him and told him he'd done the right thing. He almost believed it, until the memories arrived in a little bottle from Gringott's.

_Touching, kissing. "He was dying, poisoned, no antidote," Severus said between kisses. "He wanted me to do it." Falling to a mattress on the floor. "How could you doubt me?" Fucking--oh, God, fucking, not rape, so desperate for each other... _

Remus loaded a gun and pointed it at his own head.

"No!" Snape said, and broke contact, shaking.

She could feel his anguish anyway. "What if you turned yourself in?"

She could tell from his eyes that he loathed the idea, but she felt that sense of pressure again, and then more images flooding into her mind.

A teenage boy curled up on top of a grave, asleep. Dumbledore, saying, "I think you owe Mr. Potter a word of gratitude, Mr. Snape." And then the sensation of shifting sideways, and another vision.

Hands, tongues, lips, fingers slipping through graying hair. Cold stone walls. Bars on the window.

"I'm getting you out of here," Remus said. His hair was much greyer and his face showed signs of age. "I've engaged the best legal counsel I can find. And if that doesn't work..."

Snape reached up, and pulled Remus down onto the bed. Snape's hair was turning grey as well; he had a thick streak of it at the temple.

"We're being watched," Remus said.

"I don't care," Snape said.

Remus pulled away and stood, and Snape scowled. "I've been told not to..." Remus said, then stared at his shoes and sighed.

Snape stared.

"I've been told I won't be allowed to see you any more unless we stop," Remus said. "They say that these visits are to come up with defense strategy, not..."

Snape sat up. Then he stood and made a fist and punched the wall. He threw the table, and slammed the chairs against the walls until they broke.

Remus backed away, up against the far wall.

Snape kicked the bed, and beat the walls with his fists, and that was when Remus grabbed him, restrained his arms, pulled him down to the floor.

"My father used to keep me locked up in my room," Snape whispered. His knuckles were bloody.

Remus held Snape, and kissed him on the shoulder.

Sybill pulled away.

A man with a large hooked nose striking a greasy-haired teenager, and shoving him into a room and locking the door. Mad-Eye Moody shoving a frightened young Snape into a small prison cell. The teenage boy curled up asleep on a grave; this time Sybill was able to read the inscription on the stone: Eileen Prince Snape. Voldemort's goons throwing Snape into a coffin, and the sounds of it being nailed shut and earth being piled on top.

"All right," Sybill said, "no prison. It's no life for him, either. Can you give him the memories in a preemptive strike?"

Severus's hand, knocking on a door.

Remus opened the door of Grimmauld Place and found Snape on his doorstep. "Before you say or do anything," Snape said, "I have something for you--the memories of what happened the day you saw me in Knockturn Alley."

"Confundus, or Imperius?" Remus said.

"Why don't you look for yourself?" Snape said.

"I will," Remus said, "on condition that you wait for me inside."

Snape nodded, and Remus led him into a drawing room where Mad-Eye Moody was waiting.

"What's this?" Moody said, drawing his wand.

"He said he'd wait while I looked at some memories," Remus said. "I shouldn't be long."

Moody leaned over closer on the sofa. "I'm sure I can arrange a very small cell for you, Snape. Coffin-sized, if I can manage it."

Snape looked at the floor and waited.

After what seemed to be an unreasonable delay, Remus and Tonks came in. He looked stricken, and she looked like she'd been crying.

"I'd like you to look at some memories for me," Remus said, handing the bottle to Moody, "and verify their accuracy."

Snape flinched, but said nothing. Moody stood, and grumbled, and left after giving Snape one last evil look.

Remus sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at Snape. Tonks looked heartbroken.

Moody came back into the room. "I've seen all I need to see."

"You think it's fake?" Remus said.

"I think the events off Knockturn Alley were accurate. That doesn't mean that what he showed you in the Pensieve was true. If you'll let me take him into custody, we can verify his Unbreakable with Narcissa, and examine his memories in relation to Dumbledore..."

"No," Tonks said. Both Remus and Snape stared at her. "He's a member of the Order."

"He'd probably talk if we put him in a small enough space," Moody said. "Claustrophobic. Most Death Eaters are; the initiation involves being buried alive."

"No," Remus and Tonks said, almost in unison. Snape said nothing.

Moody pulled out his wand. Tonks and Remus pulled out theirs, and Tonks stepped in front of Snape.

"I told you no," Tonks said.

Moody and Tonks squared off, and Lupin joined Tonks in front of Snape.

Moody started to laugh, and put his wand away. "This isn't over," Moody said.

Sybill had seen enough. She pulled away. "Look," she said. "It's no use. Let me take the memories to him. You can see him after we sort things out."

Severus looked at her for a moment, then turned and went into the other room.

She didn't know why he trusted her. She didn't know why she trusted him, for that matter. She supposed she'd seen his heart. Or maybe it was that he'd given her back herself.

He returned, and painted something on her forehead, over her inner eye. Whatever it was, it smelled like tea and spices. He pulled out a Gringott's key on a long black satin ribbon, and put it around her neck. "Seven nineteen," he said, tucking the key into her blouse. She blushed, and then pulled his head down and kissed him on the forehead. His hair was greasy under her hands, and he scowled, but she didn't care.

He opened a drawer on a table, and pulled out a wand. "My grandmother's," he said, and handed it to her. He pulled something off a coat rack--an invisibility cloak--and wrapped it around her.

"Stay out of sight," she said, and apparated to Gringott's.


End file.
